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bruptly, Jesus stood up in the boat and stepped into the water. It was shallow there so he sank only to his knees. He strode out of the water and onto the shore. Once again, the crowd divided as he cleaved through them. We looked at one another in surprise and followed. His footsteps left wet traces on the ground. He seemed determined. He spoke to no one. It seemed his teaching was at an end. The people let him and the disciples pass without further incident. They did not follow, at least not immediately, perhaps sensing that he did not wish them to. But we followed. For over an hour Jesus walked saying nothing. His stride softened into a gentler stroll allowing the twelve men and the rest of us to catch up.
I walked next to him in silence for a few moments before asking, “Where are we going, Lord?” He looked at me, smiled and said my name,
“Joseph.” He said nothing more for the moment and then, “Joseph, son of Shabbat, son of rest, son of comfort. I am glad you are with me, Joseph. I need you right now.” He paused, walking with his arms folded. “You never knew your father did you, Joseph?”
“He died when I was an infant.” It was I who needed comfort from him, yet he sought it from me. Life without a father, indeed without a mother as well had not been easy.
“So you managed to grow up with no father in your home?”
“I was fortunate to have a home,” I replied. “I had uncles and other older men who seemed to want to help me. Mostly, I was surrounded by women old enough to be my grandmothers . . . and one black slave who was more of a mother to me than anyone.”
“Did you miss not having a father?” I wondered at his line of questioning. Why is he pursuing this? Doesn’t he know how it pains my heart?
“Yes. I confess I have often envied those who had fathers — even bad ones.”
“My father was a good father.” He was pensive. “He was a carpenter, Joseph.” Then he laughed wistfully, “His name was Joseph, too. What do you think of that, Joseph? And what do you think of a son, Joseph,” he said with some emotion, “who will not go to his father’s funeral? What do you think of a son and a brother who will not see his family during their time of grief?” The words were clipped, angry.
I stopped walking and stared at him. He stopped, too. He turned and looked at me. “I don’t know what to think, Master. I would have never done that, but I am not you. You have had two fathers. One is dead, the other will never die. It is his hand that is upon you, his call, his purpose.” I took a breath and then added softly, “Sometimes his purpose is difficult.”
“Yes,” said Jesus. “Difficult.” Then he turned and walked on.
I caught up with him again and asked, “Why do you speak to the people in stories they do not understand?”
“God our Father — my Father,” he glanced at me with a twinkle, “has a message he wishes to convey. It is a message of love, a message of invitation . . . but you know, Joseph, there are people who because of suspicion or fear, do not respond to an invitation of love. These “stories” as you call them, separate those that respond from those that will not.”
“But do they not respond because they do not believe the love is real, or because they have been treated so harshly that they cannot recognize it when they see it? Would it not be better to make it plain and simple to these people?” The logic to me seemed inescapable.
“It seems more complex that it is. Every man and woman lives life in a cloud. This cloud consists of what has been learned from parents, family, teachers and experience. The cloud forms and shapes opinion. Each opinion is the result of willful choice based on what is understood from their cloud. The Father will not disturb one’s choices — whatever their cloud — he does not force response to his love, Joseph. Nor does he manipulate and cajole. A person still has his own mind and makes his own decisions. So, he who has ears, let him hear. He who has not been so jaded by his cloud, will respond to the Father’s invitation.”
“Are you familiar with the prophecy of Isaiah?
“Not very,” I confessed.
“Isaiah said . . .
‘You will be ever hearing but never understanding; you will be ever seeing but never perceiving. This people’s heart has become calloused; they hardly hear with their ears, and they have closed their eyes. Otherwise they might see with their eyes, hear with their ears, understand with their hearts and turn, and I would heal them.’
(I thought it amazing how he could quote, apparently at random, obscure passages of Scripture.)
. . . but blessed are your eyes Joseph, because they see, and your ears because they hear. Many prophets and righteous men longed to see what you see but did not see it, and to hear what you hear but did not hear it.
“I don’t teach in stories to illustrate my point or to make it interesting. On the contrary, I teach in stories so that truth may find a heart predisposed to acceptance. So I teach in stories so that truth may be lost on a callous heart. This is not cold as you might imagine, Joseph. It simply acknowledges the reality that men make up their own minds as to what is truth and what is not.
“You are curious about the farmer and his seed? Then listen: When anyone hears the message of truth and does not understand it, the evil one comes and snatches away what was planted in his heart. Satan does this by providing alternatives he does understand. The person who ‘does not understand,’ does not want to understand. This is the seed scattered along the path.
“The one who received the seed that fell on rocky places is the man who hears the truth and at once receives it with joy. He is titillated by any new idea, especially if he perceives it as truth. But since he has no root in himself, since his ‘perception’ is rock hard, it takes no root in him. His interest is short lived. If trouble comes because of his new beliefs, he quickly releases them.
“The one who received the seed that fell among the thorns is the man who hears the truth, but the worries of this life and the deceitfulness of wealth choke it. It withers and bears no fruit. He is much too concerned with survival in this life to be concerned with eternal things.
“But the one who received the seed that fell on good soil is the man who hears the word and understands it because like a child, he wants to believe. He wants to understand. In him, the word germinates and takes firm root. He becomes focused and committed. Such a person produces an extremely productive life, a crop yielding thirty, sixty or a hundred times what was sown.
“So what do you think of my story now, Joseph?”
“I think I understand,” I smiled. He returned the smile.
“God considers mankind in much the same way as the farmer who plants. While the farmer slept, his enemy came and scattered the seeds of weeds among the crop of wheat. The forces of evil, be they demonic or human, do this routinely. When the wheat sprouts so do the weeds. The farmer’s servants come to him and say, ‘You planted wheat in your field. Where then did the weeds come from?’
‘An enemy did this,’ replies the farmer.
The servants asked him, ‘Do you want us to go and pull them up?’
‘No,’ he answered, ‘because while you are pulling the weeds, you may root up the wheat with them. Let both grow together until the harvest. Then I will instruct the harvesters to first collect the weeds and tie them in bundles to be burned; then gather the wheat and bring it into the barn.’”
“There is evil in the world, Joseph. Because of this the children of God, those who believe and love, will not find life easy. But they must never lose hope because they are much like a mustard seed. Though it is a very small seed, when it grows it becomes a tree so that birds come and perch in its branches.” With excited eyes he spoke to me, “The family of God is like yeast that a woman mixes in flour until it worked all through the dough. The world will never be the same, Joseph,” he paused, his lips set in satisfaction, as if he were totally assured of the truth of which he spoke, “The world will never be the same because of the family of God.”
The path came to a resting place. A bench of sorts had been erected so the traveler could sit and over which a shelter of equal sorts had been built. When Jesus saw it, he made straight for it, sat down, removed his sandals and began to rub the ache in his feet. A brook bubbled nearby where those who were following gathered to drink from a standing spring. It was indeed a lovely place, a natural place for a stop. So, we stopped and after a few moments gathered around Jesus. He saw the opportunity to teach once again and said, “I teach you these tales because I intend for you to teach them as well.” We looked at one another in bewilderment. “Does that surprise you? I will not be with you forever. I expect you to carry on my work. Learn then the story of a treasure, which a man found in a field. His joy overwhelmed him. He exploded with pleasure. But then he sought for a place to hide it lest someone else stumble upon it and take it from him. Then, smart man that he was, he found the owner of the field and purchased it from him.” We laughed and applauded in enthusiasm.
“Tell us another, Jesus.”
“To seek to be a member in the family of God” he responded, “is like a merchant looking to purchase fine pearls. Then he stumbled upon one of enormous value; a beauty the like of which he had never before seen. So taken was he by this magnificent jewel that he sold everything he had and bought it.”
“He sold everything?”
“Everything, Thomas. So great is the value of being in union with the Father. Nothing you have or ever could have compares to it.” Thomas was silent. So were we all.
“How can we do this?” someone muttered. I turned my head to see who said it but all I saw were the other faces of the twelve and a few others like myself who were hangers on. It wasn’t so much questioning the possibility as questioning the process, as if asking in what way something could be accomplished.
“How?” said Jesus. “It is not as difficult as you might think. Hear me out; a farmer scatters seed on the ground. Night and day, whether he sleeps or not, the seed sprouts and grows, though he does not know how. All by itself, the soil produces grain — first the stalk, then the head, then the full kernel in the head. Soon the grain is ripe and he puts the sickle to it. The harvest has come.” We were all mystified at this and comforted by it at the same time. But then our comfort was not to last long as he continued, “The gathering of the family of God is like a net that is let down into the lake and catches all kinds of fish. When it is full, you fishermen (pointing to Peter and the other fishermen) pull it in. Then you sit down and collect the good fish in baskets, but throw the bad away. This is how it will be at the end of the age. The angels will come and separate the wicked from the righteous and throw them into the fiery furnace, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.”
“Not all will be saved, Master?” Thomas again.
“The family of God is not sought by all.”
“And those who do not perish in fire?”
“It is a story, Thomas.”
But if a story, I thought, what might the reality be?
It occurred to me that Jesus had spoken all these things using stories. He said nothing to us otherwise. Something I read somewhere came to mind, “I will open my mouth in stories, I will utter things hidden since the creation of the world.”
“Have you understood all these things?” Jesus asked.
“Yes,” we replied.
Then he said to us, “Every teacher of truth who has been instructed in the things of God is like the owner of a house and property that brings out of his storage shed new treasures as well as the ones he has stored for years. I have given you something new. May God grant you the strength to live by them and give them to others.”
